


The Frozen Deep

by Lisafer



Series: The Dickens Arc [9]
Category: Immortals - Tamora Pierce, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dickens Arc, F/M, Romance, birthday fic, seori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a surprise visit from an old love, Maura seeks advice about how to proceed with her marriage plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Frozen Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seori/gifts).



> Like all my fics written about Maura, this is for Seori.

Sir Douglass apparently hadn't noticed Lady Maura slipping away, late into the evening; he was engaged in a debate with Sir Alistair, Maura's newly betrothed. But Wyldon had seen her – one minute she was idly staring out the window, and the next she was wrapping her tartan shawl around her and leaving the drawing room. If he had not have noticed, he was certain that the small cat on his lap – Scrap, she was called – would have pointed it out to him. She had been purring and resting comfortably until Maura moved from the window. At that point she lifted her head, following her mistress with her gaze until she was out of the room. She then turned to face Wyldon as if to ask him why he wasn't trailing after her.

But Wyldon annoyed the little furball, turning his attention instead to the conversation between the knights. The poor young man needed rescue from Douglass's interrogation; for even though it was disguised as friendly conversation, the truth of the matter was that he was worried about Maura, and wanted to make sure Alistair was worthy of her.

He was a nice enough man, thirty-six years old and a philosopher of sorts - and not the acerbic philosophizing Wyldon was expected to endure from Queenscove more and more these days. Alistair was from Meron – the nephew of Lord Martin – and this marriage would strengthen the trade between the northeast and the hills that bordered the Great Southern Desert. Unlike his uncle, he was a gentle sort of man. He had never been a brilliant knight, though he was solid and reliable. He'd been among the first class of pages Wyldon had trained, in fact.

Whatever Douglass was searching for in his debate, he seemed to find it after another fifteen minutes. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder and exclaimed that there was a bottle of brandy in the dining hall that he'd been saving for a special occasion. He offered it to Wyldon, as well, but he declined, choosing to stay with the cat and wait for Maura's return.

"Should we wait for her, as well?" Alistair asked, pausing at the doorway.

"She's likely doing her evening rounds – making sure everything is taken care of. She'll be back shortly." Although he sounded as casual as ever, Wyldon noticed that Douglass glanced out the window; perhaps he was better at hiding things than initially suspected.

"You two go on," Wyldon encouraged them. "I'll let her know where you are when she returns."

They did so, and it was a matter of minutes before the lady of the house was back in the drawing room, rubbing her hands over her arms. She'd most certainly been outside.

"Where's Alistair?" she asked, moving toward the large fireplace.

"With Douglass. I believe they're toasting to your happy futures."

She smiled, though her expression remained distant. "That's good."

"Are you all right Lady Maura?" Wyldon stood, carefully putting Scrap on his chair, and crossed to her.

She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. "Have you ever stood at the precipice, wondering if you're making the right decision?"

He rested one hand on her shoulder, as he might one of his daughters. "More often than you can imagine. Would you care to talk about it?"

She seemed to consider for a moment before speaking. "I-I shouldn't," she stammered. "You're a guest here. You shouldn't have to trouble yourself with my problems."

"I'd like to consider myself a friend," he said gently. He'd known her since she was eleven years old, and he'd brought the pages to Dunlath for a training camp. He liked her sensible manners and quick wit, and had made a point to keep one eye on her as she was growing up. Now twenty-nine years old, she was an accomplished businesswoman, with one of the best managed fiefs in all of Tortall.

"You are," she said, resting her hand over his. "It's ridiculously sentimental, and I fear you'll think less of me for my woes."

"This might come as a surprise, but I can be ridiculously sentimental myself," he replied, smiling wryly.

"It's a matter of the heart," she said, turning away from the fire to face him. "I-I was in love with a knight before I ever met Alistair. And he… he came to the castle this evening."

"You just went out to meet him?"

She nodded. "I had no reason to believe it was him I saw from the window, but my instincts were right. He came to verify the betrothal announcement."

Wyldon knew what it was like to be a young and head-strong lover, lacking common sense. "And he proposed to you, I assume?"

"In his own way," she affirmed.

"What did you say to him?"

Maura's face crumpled under his kind gaze. "I told him I wouldn't," she sobbed. She did not hide behind her hands or wipe away her tears, but cried openly, unashamed. He pulled her into his embrace, as he would one of his daughters, and held her until she was able to breathe calmly. "And he's in the village inn now, angry and hurt and probably hoping that I will come to him and change my mind."

"You still can," he pointed out. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes with it.

Maura shook her head stubbornly. "I care for Alistair – really, I do. And he loves me, and Dunlath, and the wolves… not that –" she broke off, not confessing her lover's name. "Not that my friend doesn't, necessarily, but it's not the same." She sighed and sat down ungracefully in one of the lushly upholstered chairs. "I was always told that my life would be changed with my betrothal. It's one of the reasons I put it off for so long."

Wyldon sat beside her, pressing the handkerchief into her hands. "Every person's life changes with the promise of marriage. But it's a promise of future happiness – the comfort of knowing you'll never have to suffer alone."

She smiled sadly. "It's rather strange to hear such things from a widower, I'll confess."

"I still gain much from the life I shared with Vivenne. Sometimes it's the solace of memories, sometimes the presence of my daughters or grandchildren."

"I hope," she said haltingly, "that one day I will be able to look at my time with him and remember it fondly. He will move on, I'm sure, and marry someone more appropriate."

"He probably will." He didn't say it out of cruelty, but because it was the truth. It did not make him feel good to say so, however, when a new torrent of tears flooded down Maura's cheeks. "And you will be content in your life with Alistair by that time."

"This would be easier if they were alike," she whispered. "If Alistair were the kind of man who played pranks and made jokes, I wouldn't be disappointed, and then guilty, every time I expect one. But the knight who was here… he and I are the same – we see ourselves through human eyes, rather than escalating issues to matters of our birth and our blood."

"And by that, I assume he is as self-deprecating as you."

She laughed, a choked sound that was more like the merging of a hiccup and a sob. "Yes, indeed."

"Sometimes it's good to have someone who's different from you – a person who can remind you all the reasons you should be what you're not." He hadn't thought much of Keladry this evening, in all honesty, but just this one reference made him regret his leaving Corus. Was she enjoying Midwinter?

"Alistair could be mine," Maura said softly, leaning against him the way Sunarine would, after a fit of weeping – as though expelling her misery had physically exhausted her.

"Precisely. Instead of seeing him for what he's not, look at what he offers."

"Stability. Affection. Constancy. Kindness." A wistful smile tugged at her lips. "He would not ride across the nation in order to confront me if we were to disagree."

"But he would tell you, just the same, wouldn't he?"

Maura nodded. "And he would listen to me, and make me understand his point of view – not just make me feel wretched for having my own opinions."

"It sounds like he may be the better man," he suggested, taking her small hand in his.

"In some ways." Her voice was small.

"Can you grow to love him as passionately as you do this other knight?"

"Maybe," she said, drying the last of her tears. "Did you love anyone before Lady Vivenne?" she asked, after a moment's pause.

"No," he admitted. "I found myself attached to women at court, but it was nothing at all like what I felt for Vivenne."

"Do you think it's possible to have more than one great love in your life?"

"I know it's possible." When she looked up at him with questions in her brown eyes, he smiled and nodded. "I'm thinking of marrying again," he confided.

"Who is the lady?" she asked, pressing his handkerchief back into his hands. "Is she someone I know?"

He smoothed out the wrinkles and folded it, noting the initials that were embroidered in Mindelan blue. "In fact she is," he said with a small smile. He was about to tell her all about Keladry when the other men returned, still deep in discussion. "Perhaps we should continue this later."

Maura nodded. She pressed her hands to her flushed face, trying to regain some composure. "Have you been drinking and debating all this time?" she asked, rising to her feet. "Douglass, you shouldn't take advantage of him like this!"

"Nonsense," Douglass replied with a rakish grin. "We had only one glass each. What kind of knight-protector would I be if I allowed half of the party to get intoxicated, leaving you completely defenseless?"

Wyldon grinned wryly. He suspected that Maura had not been defenseless in the last twenty years.

"Technically you're not my knight-protector anymore," she answered tartly. "I fully inherited these lands ten years ago, and the king relieved you from your position. You've gone from being my protector to being my ornery houseguest."

"I'm wounded!" he cried, clutching his chest in mock pain. "I could've sworn that I'd been elevated to family over the years!"

Maura walked over to Alistair's side, taking his hand in hers. "What do you say, Alistair? Should I let him be a permanent fixture in Dunlath?"

The quiet knight studied Douglass, who had fallen on the couch, as if in a faint. "I think if you don't, he'll be devastated. You wouldn't want to be responsible for breaking a man's heart, would you?"

Her smile faltered momentarily, and Wyldon tried not to cringe at Alistair's unfortunate choice of words. It was clear by his relaxed expression of adoration that he intended no malice. He likely knew nothing at all of her first love.

Douglass sat up to await Maura's verdict, but she was unable to give one. Tait, the huntsman who'd been at Dunlath for the last twenty years, entered the room, carrying an unconscious man over one shoulder.

"I found him in yer orchard, almost halfway t' the village," he said, lowering the young man to the couch. "I recognized him as a friend of yers, miss."

Wyldon knew the man as Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop, the younger son of the Lioness. He had not realized that this was the knight Maura had been speaking of; he had foolishly expected a man her age or older – not a boy several years out of the Chamber. But he had no room to judge; Maura loving a knight five years younger than her was far less preposterous than his falling in love with a woman nearly thirty years his junior.

"Douglass, go get your brandy," she commanded, moving to Alan's side. "We need to get blood flowing to his extremities to fight the onset of frostbite." She held the young man's hand in her own, rubbing it. "Alistair, could you fetch one of the maids and get blankets – lots of them?"

Both men did her bidding without question. Wyldon was impressed, as ever, by her cool authority.

"His clothes are soaked."

"He wern't there long, Lady Maura," Tait answered. "I went round the castle several times, makin' sure everythin' was set afore I headed back to the village. He wasn't there the first time I passed, no' ten minutes afore."

"Ten minutes in the cold of a mountain winter is more than he needs," she said, frowning. A spark of fuchsia flew from her fingertips to the fireplace, and the heat intensified. "He was traveling across Tortall – I don't even know how long he'd been exposed to the cold."

"We should get his clothes off," Wyldon said, coming to her side. "I can manage that, if you would like to help the others."

"I'll find dry clothes for him," she said before she left the room, pulling Tait along with her as she issued orders in a low voice.

"You're lucky someone found you," Wyldon said, pulling off the boy's boots and socks. His feet were like blocks of ice. He paused to rub them before moving on to remove the rest of his clothes. "Mithros knows what would have happened if Tait hadn't been walking around the castle."

Alan's long blonde lashes fluttered. "'s warm," he murmured.

Douglass came back into the room, brandy in one hand and blankets draped over both arms. "Maura's going through my things, looking for clothes that could possibly fit him; he'd be swimming in Alistair's clothes."

"I could fetch one of my nightshirts," Wyldon said, taking one of the blankets and covering the young man who was now clad only in his loincloth. "He's closer to my size than yours."

Douglass nodded. "Thank you, Wyldon." His face, usually wearing an expression of amusement or mock-innocence, was sad. "He's a good kid," he added. "I'm glad Tait found him out there."

"You knew that was why she left this evening, didn't you?" Wyldon eyed him shrewdly. For all of Douglass's playfulness, he had always been clever – even when they were pages.

He nodded, setting the decanter on a table. "They've known each other for years. Raoul came here several times when Alan was a squire. They took to each other immediately."

"She loves him."

"I know." Douglass sighed. "And she knew all along that she would find her husband elsewhere in Tortall. There's nothing that can be gained from a union with Pirate's Swoop."

"Except love," Wyldon pointed out.

"Love can be found anywhere if people are willing. She and Alistair care for each other."

Wyldon poured the brandy into one of the glasses from the water service and took it to Alan's side. The boy was in and out of consciousness, but he needed to drink. "You have to have a sip or two," he urged, lifting Alan's head slightly.

Alan leaned forward and drank, coughing after the burn reached his throat. His head fell back against the cushions, and Wyldon knew that he would be asleep in moments.

"He doesn't understand Dunlath," Douglass continued. "She lives for this land – it's the most important thing to her, and any man who marries her must know that he comes second. Alan can make her smile and laugh, and offers comfort when she needs it, but he's never been able to ease her fretting over the decrease in demands for opals. He's never worried about an early frost, and how it could beggar her people.

"He's from Pirate's Swoop. He was raised on the notion that love and hard work are all one needs to get through life, because that's how it's worked for Alanna and George." Douglass shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "She witnessed treason and destruction first hand, and lived through family deaths. Her own sister is locked away forever. Alan has never had to face the demons that are constantly at Maura's back. He's never had to fight as hard as she has, whether she was fighting for the rights of the ogres or for the protection of her land."

"So you've always felt he was unsuited?" Wyldon asked after a pause.

"Yes," Douglass admitted. "But they were children when they met – I didn't think any romance would come of it, with the age difference."

Wyldon shifted his weight from one foot to another, feeling uneasy. "It probably didn't strike them as love until well after their first meeting. Sometimes our hearts wait until the timing is appropriate – and by then the age difference probably didn't mean as much to them."

Douglass smirked slightly. "Indeed," he said, his gaze more direct than it had been all evening. He poured brandy into two more glasses and handed one to Wyldon. "No matter, by the time Maura realized that it couldn't happen, she was already in too deep."

"And Alistair knows nothing of it?"

"I don't believe she's told him."

"He'll figure it out, even if she doesn't tell him," Wyldon said with a sigh.

***

 

Maura was up most of the night, watching over Alan's sleeping form. He woke several times, smiling at the sight of her next to him. That small grin broke her heart each time; in that groggy place between wakefulness and sleep, he seemed to have forgotten that she had refused to break her engagement with Alistair.

At dawn, when light was peeking through the large eastern windows, Alan woke up fully. "You've been sitting here all night with me?" he asked, snapping Maura out of her thoughts.

She nodded. "I've been watching the fire, and making sure you don't break into a fever or take a turn for the worse."

He pushed himself into an upright position and studied the sleeves of his nightshirt. "Where did this come from?"

"Lord Wyldon is visiting; he offered one of his own."

"Be sure to thank him for me."

"Were you planning to leave before you get a chance to speak to anyone else?"

He nodded, his small mouth turned down in a frown. "I shouldn't stay."

"Because of last night?"

"He's here, isn't he?" Alan's voice was unsteady, and he looked away from Maura.

"Yes," she answered. "He's been here for the last week. He has to learn Dunlath, since he's going to be adopting it as his home."

"I don't want to spend time conversing nicely with your betrothed while Sir Douglass watches me knowingly." He scowled, resembling a petulant child.

"It wasn't easy," she said, her voice low. "It wasn't a matter of waking up one morning and deciding that I would marry someone else. I've had to bury my feelings – let them grow dormant over time."

"You're lucky to have that luxury," he said. His hazel eyes flashed angrily. "I can't simply push my love for you beneath the snow and hope it's gone before the thaw."

She said nothing. His hurt was greater than hers, she knew. Let him lash out; a part of her felt she deserved it.

"I'll have to go to the inn," he said finally. "Felicity – the horse I rode from the Swoop – is stabled there."

"I think you should wait," she said uncertainly. "I had to use my magic to warm you last night, you were so cold. You suffered from frostbite. I don't think you should throw yourself back into the freezing weather so soon."

"She has a point," Douglass said from the doorway. "It's good to see you with some color, Alan, but we don't need you putting yourself in more danger. At least stay in Dunlath for one more day."

"We can put you in one of the guest rooms, and you don't have to take your meals with everyone," Maura said softly. "If you don't want to, that is."

Alan nodded, unable to meet her gaze.

"I'll ready one of the rooms for you, then," she said decisively, standing. Douglass followed her out of the room.

"Are you sure he shouldn't be staying at the inn?" he asked, taking Maura's arm.

"I don't have a problem with having him here," she said.

"And what would Alistair think of it?"

"He knows nothing of Alan."

"Perhaps now it's time to tell him."

Maura's mouth went dry. "D-does he need to know?"

Douglass stopped in his tracks. "Are you honestly asking that, Maura? Or are you stalling because you're afraid?"

"Terribly afraid," she admitted, hanging her head. She dreaded the notion of telling Alistair; their courtship had been full of discussions of the future rather than confidences about their pasts. But she knew that it was unfair to have spoken with Alan the night before, out in the orchard, without telling her future husband. "I'll talk to him now, if you can speak to the chamber maids about moving Alan into one of the extra rooms."

Douglass pulled her into a bear hug, and she was grateful for it. He had been her family for nineteen years, no matter how much she teased him and told him he wasn't. He knew her better than anyone else in the world – better than Alan ever had. Possibly better than Alistair would.

"Good luck," he whispered, kissing her forehead. Then he was off, heading in the opposite direction.

She made her way to Alistair's room, wringing her hands and trying to plan what she was to say. He answered her knock immediately – he was an early riser, she knew.

"Have you not had any sleep at all?" he asked, taking in her clothes and falling hair.

She shook her head. "I nodded off several times, but I wanted to stay awake to make sure Sir Alan didn't fare worse."

"How is he this morning?"

"Doing much better. I've asked him to stay another night – I don't feel comfortable sending him off into the cold right away." She entered his room and closed the heavy oak door behind her.

"Are you sure you should—?"

"It's fine," she said, cutting him off. "We need to talk."

He sat down on his bed, running one hand through his short copper hair. "Is this the point where you explain to me how Tait recognized him as an old friend, or what he was doing here if he's from Pirate's Swoop?"

She sat next to him, taking his other hand in hers and looking up into his blue-green eyes. "I've known Alan for seven years – since he was a squire for Lord Raoul. He came here last night to speak with me." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "He came to speak to me about breaking my engagement with you."

Alistair said nothing for a very long moment. His eyes searched hers as the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. "There are so many questions that I don't know where to begin," he said awkwardly. "What did you say to him when he asked?"

"I told him that I would not."

Alistair, she realized, had been holding his breath and let it out with her answer. "Mithros, I had the worst feeling that you had agreed, and were coming in to end our betrothal." His smile was weak, and it fell as he continued to study her. "You were in love with him."

Maura felt her face flush. "Does it show?"

He released her hand and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. "I know we haven't known each other long, but I've learned your expressions. And right now you look incredibly wistful and conflicted." Sighing, he stood and crossed to a window. "Did you consider it?"

She studied her hands, afraid to look up at him. "It wasn't an option."

"Because of your sense of duty? Loyalty to Dunlath?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Would you prefer that I'd contemplated it?"

"At least I would know that you considered an alternative, instead of rushing into a marriage with me because you have to."

She winced. "I chose you for many reasons, Alistair. Yes, it was good for Dunlath. But there were other paths that could've been chosen just for the sake of my people."

When he turned to face her she saw pain in his expression. "What made you accept my offer, then?"

"I was drawn to you from the first time we met," she said truthfully, never having mastered the art of hiding behind coquetry. "Your kindness. Your honesty. But why did you make your offer, if it wasn't for Meron?"

He shook his head, grinning. It wasn't the friendly grin she'd come to cherish, but a bitter smile. "I fell in love with you after our first conversation, Maura. I had other options, too – some that my mother was more set on – but I insisted on Dunlath because I insisted on having you."

Maura's chest constricted at the combination of his words and expression. She realized, in that moment, that she didn't want to see him hurt ever again, if it was in her power to prevent it. Standing and crossing the room, she closed the gap between them. "I want to have you as my husband," she whispered. "Alan is my past, but I want you to be my future."

His expression softened as he looked down at her. "You know I can't be angry with you when you're being sweet." Tilting her chin up, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her slowly. When he finally pulled away, he caressed her cheek with the back of her hand. "You could've told me about him – before last night, even."

"A proper noblewoman isn't supposed to have any romances before her wedding. I was worried about what you would say."

He raised one eyebrow. "I would guess that it depended on how serious the romance was."

"Physically it wasn't," she answered haltingly. "But emotionally – well, I loved him for years."

"The only reservation I have," Alistair began, after a long pause, "is regarding what you would have said if we weren't betrothed yet and Sir Alan asked for your hand."

"I don't know what I would've decided," she admitted. "I don't think he would've asked, were he not pushed to desperation. He'd certainly never mentioned it before."

"But if he had? Hypothetically speaking?"

Maura scowled; he knew very well that she hated hypotheticals. "I would've had to think for a long time before answering. But I probably wouldn't have agreed."

"Why not?"

"Because Douglass wouldn't approve." She shrugged. "He likes him well enough, but Douglass knows me better than I know myself. When we discussed potential matches for me, Pirate's Swoop was never brought up."

"So you would base your entire future on Douglass's opinion?" Alistair asked, skeptical.

"You know I value his input," she replied. "And I consider it when making my own decisions."

"Did you ask him for his opinion when I proposed?"

"No," she smiled up at him. "I knew he approved of a match with Meron. But after I met you, I didn't discuss it with him. Not until after I accepted your proposal."

"Why the difference, then?"

"While Douglass is permitted to make suggestions about my love-life, he cannot dictate it. His input was regarding whether or not Meron would be a good match, rather than whether Alistair of Meron would be someone I could love." She took his hands in her own and stretched on her toes to kiss him.

Alistair broke free from her grasp so he could place his hands on either side of her face. He deepened the kiss, abandoning the chaste kisses they had shared since the beginning of their engagement and overwhelming her with his ardor. She lost herself in the kiss, wrapping her arms around him and kissing back enthusiastically.

After several long moments of kissing, she finally pushed him away. "We should stop," she said, her voice raspy. She knew that if they continued, she would let things go too far.

"You're right," he said huskily, releasing his grip on her. "I love you, Maura," he whispered.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he placed his fingers over her lips. "Don't say it until I'm the only one you'd say it to," he commanded. "I can wait until then.'

Thanking him with a quick kiss in addition to her words, she left his room and made her way to the office she had taken over since coming into her inheritance. It was here that she managed the business of the fief, with help from Douglass.

Lord Wyldon was waiting for her, seated comfortably in one of the plush chairs and sifting through a stack of papers.

"My lord, I almost forgot that we were supposed to review the lumber agreement."

"You've had other things to take care of. How is Sir Alan?"

"Much better. I've asked him to stay another day, to make sure he's better before he sets out for Pirate's Swoop."

Wyldon's eyes were kind as he studied her. "And how are you?"

"Well," she answered, smiling broadly as she recalled her conversation with Alistair. "I'm thinking that I've definitely made the right decision." She sat down in the chair opposite him.

"I hope you're right," he replied.

"I can grow to love him easily. He eases the pain."

"That's the most important thing," he said. "Finding someone who knows the pain you might feel, and tries to understand and lessen it."

She recalled their conversation the night before, and eye him shrewdly. "Is that what your new love has done for you?"

His wide mouth twisted into the slightest of smiles, softening his expression entirely. "That she has. Keladry is the kind of person who takes everyone under her wing, whether she intends to or not."

Maura blinked. "Lady Knight Keladry?" she asked, surprised. She didn't know the lady knight very well, but she liked the soft expression she put on Lord Wyldon's face. If she made him happy, Maura could be content. "She's the woman you're going to marry?"

He nodded. "If she agrees."

"Do you think she won't?"

"No. But I don't want to assume that she will."

"And do you love her the way you loved Lady Vivenne?" she asked, without thinking exactly how personal the question was, or how private Lord Wyldon tended to be.

"Never," he answered immediately. "I'll never be able to replicate what I had with Vivenne. But with Keladry I have the chance to find something new and different."

Maura thought about Alan, and everything they had shared. She knew that she would never have the same feelings for Alistair, but Wyldon's words reminded her that hoping to have the same kind of relationship with him was absurd.

"A part of me will always love Alan," she said finally. "But it's time to put that aside - I'm giving my heart to Alistair, and I don't think I'll ever regret this decision."

"Gods, I've never been happier than to hear that," a voice called from the doorway. Douglass stood there, a stack of papers in hand. He dumped them unceremoniously on her desk and sat on the arm of her chair, pulling her into a one-armed embrace.

Looking up at him, Maura narrowed her eyes. She had suspected he did not want her to marry Alan, but she didn't realize the depth of his feelings. Had he been set against Alan, or was he that fond of Alistair? "You never said anything," she accused.

Douglass and Wyldon exchanged looks.

"Let me tell you something I've learned from thirty-five years of parenting," Wyldon told Maura, one corner of his mouth jerking upward into a wry lop-sided grin. "You don't tell your daughter who she should or shouldn't marry. More often than not, she'll tell you who she'd like to be with before you've even thought of it. You two have done well by each other."

Maura knew that he was right; Douglass was smart enough to know that she valued his opinion over anyone else's, and he'd intentionally kept his peace so she could come to the proper conclusions on her own. She brought her hand up to her shoulder, resting it over his as she smiled up at him.


End file.
